


Take It All

by Faetality



Series: TWKB [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Blindfolds, Character Study, Dom Peter Hale, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Rope Bondage, Sensation Play, Shibari, Sub Chris Argent, Trust, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 10:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16039106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faetality/pseuds/Faetality
Summary: There's only one place that Chris can just be; and that's with Peter.





	Take It All

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a Teen Wolf Kink Bingo fic but it felt right to give it it's own work.  
> Prompt Square: Sensation Play

“You’re beautiful like this.” There was nothing teasing in the words, if anything they were spoken with a reverence Chris had never heard before. As though he was truly precious, beautiful, and the wolf couldn’t stop himself from speaking. Hands settle on the bare skin where his neck meets shoulder and he startles. “Shh, I’ve got you Christopher. This only works if you trust me, you need to let go.” There’s the tell tale movement and then heat at his back that says Peter has knelt behind him on the floor, hands slip outward and thumbs dig into the muscle there. “Stop trying to predict what comes next.” Lips brush the top of his skin, eliciting a shudder that he can’t stop. “Let me take care of you.” Peter’s hands are firm, working the tension he never acknowledged out of his shoulders all while keeping up that low tone, pulling him down slowly but surely. 

 

“Do you want to ear muffs tonight?” Careful, not pushing one way or the other, just a question. The silk is soft where it’s tied around his eyes, he’s never asked how he looks like this. On his knees, blindfolded, and completely at a wolf’s mercy. Peter is always reverent, takes his time and leaves no inch of his skin untouched but he knows. He knows that his body is a patchwork of imperfections, scar upon scar, from his ankles to his lips. He knows that he’s not beautiful, not now and maybe never. He’s not perfect in any sense.  He knows; and it makes it hard to listen some nights. When Peter kisses each dip and line, tells him over and over that he’s beautiful and strong and perfect and all the things he knows he’s not. Except sometimes he thinks he might be. “Not tonight.” Equally quiet, a little rougher but still clear. 

 

Those hands are working over his sides, down to his lower back where thumbs make sweeping motions, chasing pain away. “We aren’t using the gag tonight, do you want the ropes?” palms flatten, warm and coaxing, travelling back up. He’s left with a choice and Peter never pushes him on this. 

“Just my arms.” the hands slip over his shoulders, run down his arms before drawing away. Peter always walked softly and on carpet he was a ghost, but Chris knew he was close. It didn’t mean that he didn’t startle ever so slightly when he spoke, kneeling directly in front of him.    
“Arms crossed in front of you.” there’s no other direction but the position is familiar, forearms pressed together, hands near his elbow. It’s an easy position. 

  
“Breathe in,” the loops of the rope trail over his collar bones and down chest, soft and weighty, the light ‘thud’ of it main coil hitting the carpet is accompanied by “and out.” He has no doubt the jute is the same rich blue of the blindfold but for him it’s a meager detail as Peter makes the first tie around his wrists. “In.” the pattern feels intricate, even from the beginning, Peter’s knuckles brush feather light over his skin as he crosses and slips the rope end under other loops “and out.” They continue like that until the pressure encasing his arms from the wrist to the bicep is enough and Peter is satisfied with his work. “Stunning.” Chris is breathing on his own now, the pattern of it drawing him further from his thoughts and into the space of  _ being  _ just as much as the ropes around him. Hands cup his jaw, thumbs sweep over his cheekbones.

“What’s your word, darling?”    
“Moon.” 

“Very good.”

The wolf draws away again, comes back and sets something to the right. “We’re gonna warm up now.” The tails of the flogger are feather light against the broad expanse of his back and he wants to sink further into his bonds but doesn’t. He keeps his back straight, chin up. “We’re gonna do twelve tonight, I’m going to count. I want you to keep up your breathing.” The first hit is light, more sound than sensation, Peter counts it for him. The second is more forceful but still barely there. It goes on. His back warms, by ten it’s burning, at twelve his head is hanging forward ever so slightly. “Good.” Peter’s hands return to his back, they feel no where near as warm as they did before but still soothing. They don’t draw the pain away, but neither do they harm. Peter never drew blood. Never would add another scar on his body. 

The sharp chill makes him jerk, gasping at the way it shocked then numbed. The patterns Peter traces over his skin don’t make sense but they’re practiced and clearly have meaning. He sways back toward the wolf only for a low growl to reverberate through his chest, “Not yet.” Another ice cube is set on his shoulder, left there with an unspoken order to stay still. The wolf moves around, claws out, backs gliding over his ribs, the curve of his hips bones, barely missing his cock where it’s half hard and then turning to drag the tips down his thighs. He stops at his knee, spreads his fingers wide and runs human hands back up to the crease. 

“We’re going to try something new. You’re going to have to stay very still for me.” Pressure on his thighs, a cheek brushing against his own in a delicious drag of stubble, then a soft kiss. It’s a rush of sensations, hot and cold, rough and gentle, loving and careful. It makes him shake. “Easy, easy.” 

 

He draws away with another drag of nails on his skin. “You know, Christopher” his name is spoken like a caress, makes him draw another deep breath and hold it, “you’re beautiful. Submitting like this, letting me take care of you, trusting me.” one hand cards through his hair, the wolf is standing behind him again, it’s hard not to lean back against his legs but he manages. Fingers touch his shoulder, drawing a line before warmth follows it, hot and solid and it sinks deep into him but he’s quiet save a sigh. Then it happens again. Like this it takes a while for him to realize the heat is wax, that the lines are deliberate and follow a nonsensical pattern that becomes apparent only when Peter draws a new line from his shoulder blade to his hip, criss crossing the lines before. By then he’s panting, arousal filtering through the haze. Every line of wax overlays a scar, careful to only drip onto his torso there’s still too much of it. 

“Peter” he doesn’t know what he’s asking for. What he needs. He only knows that it feels like he’s drowning and Peter’s there to pull him up. 

He’s being kissed, open mouthed, hands on his neck and jaw, thumbs sweeping over his cheeks. “I’ve got you, what do you need, baby?”

_ More. Less. To come. To never move. I need Everything.  _ “I don’t know. I don’t” he’s shaking his head, arms straining to reach out but he can’t-

“Shh, take your time.” small, lazy kisses are pressed to his lips, lasting mere seconds at most and it helps. It chases away the anxiety that had started and returns the calm. Let’s him float.

“You. I need you.”

“You have me.” But he knows, he knows what Chris is asking for. One hand stays cupping his cheek, keeping him focused and breathing while the other grips his cock. Firm, strong, just enough pressure to pull a whine from him. Everything was so much  _ more  _ like this. “You can come whenever you want.” The wolf sets up a rhythm, not fast but far from teasing, it’s steady and good and exactly what’s needed. Peter keeps kissing him, keeps making sure he’s there, in the moment. Let’s him drift where he needs to but always there when he comes back. Hs climax takes him by surprise, moaning and shuddering while falling forward against his wolf. Peter lets him, working him through it until he’s whining with the sensitivity and it stops. 

‘So good for me. I’m going to get you clean up now but you need to sit up. Just for a moment.” he’s heavy, he isn’t sure if he can hold himself up but he tries and gets a “good boy” for it. The cloth Peter uses to wipe away the mess is soft, just warm enough to keep him from shivering. Once that’s done the rope comes off, Peter unties it, winding it out and prompting movement when necessary until it’s all coiled on the floor and the wolf rubs his hands over the newly free skin. It’s methodical, thumbs pressing deep, chasing away the slight tingling that had taken residence there until he’s massaging the hunter’s hands. The nit’s the wax, carefully removed, pieces falling somewhere that Chris can’t be sure of nor does he care. After it all the blindfold is still on. 

He’s lifted, though not without warning, and laid on his stomach on the bed where Peter resumes massaging his legs. “You’re perfect. So wonderful for me.” Down and up, warm, soothing. There’s a dip in the mattress, he’s pulled onto a broad chest. 

“The blindfold is going to come off now.” he keeps his eyes closed, the loss of pressure around his eyes drawing another whine form him and then fingers are back in his hair and a hand is rubbing ever so lightly over his back.  “How do you feel?”

 

It takes a long time for him to answer, but that’s okay. Peter lets him have his time and when he comes back down from it all he turns his face into the wolf and says, “Perfect.”


End file.
